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ORTA-UNDIS, 



OTHER POEMS 



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BOSTON: 

WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY 



M DCCC XLVIII. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, 

By William D. Ticknor and Company, 

in the Clerk's Office of tlie District Court of the District of Miis^-achusctts. 



BOSTON : 

THURSTON, TORRY AND COMPANY, 

31 Devonshire Street. 



POEMS 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

THE REAPER 1 

TO MY VERY DEAR SISTER 3 

GEORGIANA . 5 

AMY 8 

TO A LILY 10 

QU.E CARIOR ? 12 

GEORGIA 15 

HAW BLOSSOMS 18 

AHAB MAHOMMED 22 

QUiE PULCHRIOR ? 25 

WOMAN OF CANAAN . 30 

ORNITHOLOGOI ' . 33 

A PARABLE 50 

TO ALCINA 53 

TOCCOA 55 

TALLULAH 69 



via 



CONTENTS. 



ON THE DEATH OF A Kl 

TO ANNE 

THE TWO GIVERS 

WHY SHE LOVES ME 

THE WELCOME RAIN 

LOQUITUR DIANA 

THE RISING OF THE RIVER 

A WRECK 

THE BOOK OF NATURE 

FLOWERS IN ASHES . 

A MAY MORN . 

love's HERALDRY 

LAST GIFT 

ORTA-UNDIS 



PAGE 

63 
65 
69 
73 
76 
79 
82 
85 
86 
90 
93 
97 
99 
101 



TO HER 

WHOSE VIRTUES AND EARNEST AFFECTION ARE THE PRIDE AND 
HAPPINESS OF MY LIFE ; 

TO THE -SWEETEST ROSE OE GEORGIA/ 

I DEDICATK THIS LITTLE VOLUME. 



POEMS 



THE REAPER. 



How still Earth lies! — behind the pines 
The summer clouds sink slowly down. 
The sunset gilds the higher hills 
And distant steeples of the town. 

Refreshed and moist the meadow spreads, 
Birds sing from out the dripping leaves, 
And standing in the breast-high corn 
I see the farmer bind his sheaves. 



THE REAPER. 

It was when on the fallow fields 
The heavy frosts of winter lay, 
A rustic with unsparing hand 
Strewed seed along the furrowed way. 

And I too, walking through the waste 
And wintry hours of the past, 
Have in the furrows made by griefs 
The seeds of future harvests cast. 

Rewarded well, if when the world 
Grows dimmer in the ebbing light, 
And all the valley lies in shade, 
But sunset glimmers on the height. 

Down in the meadows of the heart 
The birds sing out a last refrain. 
And ready garnered for the mart 
I see the ripe and golden grain. 

1847. 



TO MY VERY DEAR SISTER. 



No need is there of being wise 
To read the love within thine eyes ; 
Thy love thou canst not all disguise. 

Thy hair is brown, thy eyes are gray, 
And many tender things they say ; 
(Sweet eyes, thus speak to me alway !) 

Thy forehead white beneath its veins 
Soft throbbing, secret wealth contains, 
Fair fruit of fertilizing rains. 

For often, lying in the shade, 

Thy tresses loosened from their braid. 

An open book before thee laid, 



TO MY VERY DEAR SISTER. 

Thou readest many wondrous things 
That give unto thy spirit wings ; 
And dreamy old imaginings. 

But more than tress or witching eyes, 
Or all that therein hidden lies, 
Thy love I infinitely prize. 

Thy love is like a joyous rill 

That rippling down life's rugged hill, 

The crevices with gold-dust fill. 

Let others covet gold : — for me. 
In thy great love great wealth I see. 
Nor more endowed I care to be. 

1846. 



GEORGIANA 



A MOTHER sits beside her child 

With lips God only knows when smiled, 

And eyes with watching weary, 

Her bosom grieving, throbbing, aching. 

As one from hideous dreams awaking. 

Throughout that darkness dreary. 

She hears the night-bird from the wood 
Mourn: in his sable feather hood. 
She hears her own heart beating. 
The dull watch ticking 'gainst the wall, 
The leaves that rustle as they fall 
Across the window fleeting. 



GEORGIANA. 

The shadows waving to and fro, 

Across the bedclothes noiseless go, 

Across the face of Death. 

The bloodless cheeks their life regain, 

And part the pallid lips again, 

Yet part without a breath. 

The golden locks, the waveless breast, 
The silken lashes soft that rest 
Upon the marble face : 
All that was pure, beloved, and bright, 
All that is chill and clothed in night, 
Sleeps in the shroud's embrace. 

Not swiftly spent, but day by day 
This mother noted pass away 
The life with anguish sore. 
A sea retreating wave by wave. 
That ebbing left to view the grave 
Deep yawning in the shore. 



GEORGIANA. 

Oh Niobe. who thus dost mourn 
A daughter from thy bosom torn, 
Oh plaining heart, be dumb. 
tu qui cuncta scis et vales, 
Qui nos pacis hic mortales 
Jesu da solatium. 



AMY 



This is the pathway where she walked, 
The tender grass pressed by her feet. 
The laurel boughs laced overliead, 
Shut out the noonday heat. 

The sunshine gladly stole between 
The softly undulating limbs. 
From every blade and leaf arose 
The myriad insect hymns. 

A brook ran murmuring beneath 
The grateful twilight of the trees, 
Where from the dripping pebbles swelled 
A beech's mossy knees. 



AMY. 



And there her robe of spotless white, 
(Pure white such purity beseemed!) 
Her angel face and tresses bright 
Within the basin gleamed. 

The coy sweetbriers half detained 
Her light hem as we moved along ! 
To hear the music of her voice 
The mockbird hushed his song. 

But now her little feet are still, 
Her lips the Everlasting seal ; 
The hideous secrets of the grave 
The weeping eyes reveal. 

The path still winds, the brook descends, 
The skies are bright as then they were. 
My Amy is the only leaf 
In all that forest sear. 

1845. 



TO A LILY. 



Go bow thy head in gentle spite. 
Thou lily white. 

For she who spies thee waving here, 
With thee in beauty can compare 
As day with night. 

Soft are thy leaves and white : Her arms 
Boast whiter charms. 
Thy stem prone bent with loveliness 
Of maiden grace possesseth less : 
Therein she charms. 

Thou in thy lake dost see 
Thyself: So she 
Beholds her image in her eyes 
Reflected. Thus did Venus rise 
From out the sea. 



TO A LILY. 

1 ncoiisolate, bloom not again 

Thou rival vain 

Of her whose charms have thine outdone 

Whose purity might spot the sun, 

And make thy leaf a stain. 

1845. 



II 



aVM CARIOR? 



Behold, nor lands nor gold have I, 

Yet great my riches are : 

My treasure stands without a guard, 

My door without a bar. 

Ye who would wealthy live and die. 

Go seek a love like this : 

q,uis pudor desiderio 

Tam cari capitis ? * 

The eyes, the locks, the lips, the smile, 
Not these my love retain. 
A Venus trusting in her charms 
Assails my breast in vain. 

* " Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus 
Tam cari capitis ? " — Horat. 



QUiG CARIOR 1 13 

The soul serene that taper-like 
Burns quietly within ; 
The gentle kindliness of heart 
And purity from sin. 

The blood that flushes in her cheek, 

Flows in my every vein ; 

The good old blood of ancient times 

Without reproach or stain ! 

Ricrht loth am I to own our Sires, 

Stout Huguenots of yore, 

From Anjou, Maine, or Languedoc, 

So bright a jewel bore. 

I love her arm to lean on mine 

To guide her steps aright ; 

I love her eyes to speak to me 

Affection pure and bright. 

And proud within my heart am I 

That, come what may, the arm 

On which she rests is strong enough 

To shelter her from harm. 



14 



Q.UJE CARIOR f 

She tells me all her little joys, 

Her troubles and her fears, 

I smile with her, I share her grief, 

I kiss away her tears. 

And thus we journey hand in hand 

Along this path of ours : 

The thorns we crush beneath our feet, 

Our bosoms hold the flow^ers. 

1844. 



GEORGIx\ 



Thou, like a dove, dost make thy moan, 
Although thou utterest no tone, 
Nor pleadest with thy voice alone. 

The pallid brow beneath thy hair, 
Thy gentle uncomplaining air. 
Make captives of us unaware. 

Why art thou armed otherwise 

Than Nature made thee, since thine eyes 

An host within themselves comprise ? 

The axe may do a king's behest, 
Keen lances pierce the stubborn breast, 
Thv eves — they rob us of our rest ! 



16 GEORGIA. 

Ah, weary eyes with watching sore, 
And suffering, that evermore 
Look back, afraid to look before : 

And thou who on thy bed forlorn. 
In pain, hast often watched the dawn, 
Sad sighing — * will it ne'er be morn 1 ' 

Take heart : I see thee blooming grow 
As erst, where balmy zephyrs blow, 
And blue waves ripple to and fro. 

And like that sea, a tide will wake 
In thy young heart, no more to make 
The truant blood thy cheek forsake. 

No longer wilt thou drooping stand, 
With thy poor, pale, blue-veined hand, 
(The costliest gift in all the land !) 



GEORGIA. 17 

Sun warmed thy cheek will grow, and brown. 

Health will become thee as a crown, 

And light will smile where night did frown. 

And thou shalt clearly then perceive 
That God did only make thee grieve 
More elevated fiiith to leave. 

As costly diamonds in their lees, 
Washed from beneath the roots of trees 
By torrents, find the Bengalese. 

1845. 



HAW-BLOSSOMS. 



While yesterevening, through the vale 
Descending from my cottage door 
I strayed, how cool and fresh a look 
All nature wore. 

The calmi'as and golden-rods, 
And tender blossoms of the haw. 
Like maidens seated in the wood, 
Demure, I saw. 

The recent drops upon their leaves 
Shone brighter than the bluest eyes • 
And filled the little sheltered dell 



Their fragrant sighs. 



HAW-BLOSSOMS. 19 

Their pli.int arms they interlaced, 
As pleasant canopies they were : 
Their blossoms swung against my cheek 
Like braids of hair. 

And when I put their boughs aside 
And stooped to pass, from overhead 
The little agitated things 
A shower shed 

Of tears. Then thoughtfully I spoke ; 
Well represent ye maidenhood, 
Sweet flowers. Life is to the young 
A shady wood. 

And therein some like golden-rods. 
For grosser purposes designed, 
A gay existence lead, but leave 
No serm behind. 



20 HAW-BLOSSOMS. 

And others like the calmias, 

On cliff-sides inaccessible, 

Bloom paramount, the vale with sweets 

Yet never fill. 

Bat underneath the glossy leaves, 
When, working out the perfect law, 
The blossoms white and fragrant still 
Drop from the haw ; 

Like worthy deeds in silence wrought 
And secret, through the lapse of years, 
In clusters pale and delicate 
The fruit appears. 

In clusters pale and delicate 
But waxing heavier each day, 
Until the many-colored leaves 
Drift from the spray. 



HAW-BLOSSOMS. 21 

Then pendulous, like amethysts 
And rubies, purple ripe and red, 
Wherewith God's feathered pensioners 
In flocks are fed. 

Therefore, sweet reader of this rhyme, 
Be unto thee examples high 
Not calmi'as and golden-rods 
That scentless die : 

But the meek blossoms of the haw. 
That fragrant are wherever wind 
The forest paths, and perishing 
Leave fruits behind. 

1846. 



AHAB-MAHOMMED. 



A PEASANT Stood bcfore a king and said ; 

* My children starve, I come to thee for bread.' 

On cushions soft and silken sat enthroned 

The king, and looked on him that prayed and moaned. 

Who cried again ; — 'for bread I come to thee.' 

For grief, like wine, the tongue will render free. 

Then said the prince with simple truth ; * Behold 

I sit on cushions silken-soft, of gold 

And wrought with skill the vessels which they bring 

To fitly grace the banquet of a king. 

But at my gate the Mede triumphant beats, 

And die for food my people in the streets. 

Yet no good father hears his child complain 

And gives him stones for bread, for alms disdain. 



AHAB-MAHOMMED. 23 

Come, thou and I will sup together — come.' 
The wondering courtiers saw — saw, and were dumb : 
Then followed with their eyes where Ahab led 
With grace the humble guest, amazed, to share his 
bread. 

Him half abashed the royal host withdrew 
Into a room, the curtained doorway through. 
Silent behind the folds of purple closed, 
In marble life the statues stood disposed : 
From the high ceiling, perfume breathing, hung 
Lamps rich, pomegranate-shaped, and golden-swung. 
Gorgeous the board with massive metal shone, 
Gorgeous with gems arose in front a throne : 
These through the Orient lattice saw the sun. 
If gold there was, of meat and bread was none 
Save one small loaf; this stretched his hand and took 
Ahab Mahommed, prayed to God, and broke : 
One half his yearning nature bid him crave, 
The other gladly to his guest he gave. 



24 AHAB-MAHOMMED. 

' I have no more to give ' — he cheerly said ; 
' With thee I share my only loaf of bread.' 
Humbly the stranger took the offered crumb 
Yet ate not of it, standing meek and dumb : 
Then lifts his eyes, — the wondering Ahab saw 
His rags fall from him as the snow in thaw. 
Resplendent, blue, those orbs upon him turned : 
All Ahab's soul within him throbbed and burned. 

Ahab Maiiommed, spoke the vision then ; 

From this thou shalt be blessed among men. 

Go forth — thy gates the Mede bewildered flees, 

And Allah thank thy people on their knees. 

He who gives somewhat does a worthy deed, 

Of him the recording angel shall take heed. 

But he that halves all that his house doth hold, 

His deeds are more to God, yea more than finest gold. 

1846. 



aU.E PULCHRIOR? 



I woo thee, thou bright One, 
With soul and with song. 
Thy praise from my bosom 
Flows fervid and strong. 
I'll teach thee the love 
That Euridyce knew, 
When the passionate hand 
Of her Orpheus drew 
Sweet words from his lyre. 

I seek not, (as Danae 
Jove conquered of old,) 
To dazzle thy vision 
With showers of gold. 



26 QU^ PULCIIRIOR ? 

No jewels I bring thee, 
No titled renown. 
But the lover has hope, 
And the poet a crown 
For the queen of his bosom. 

The blue veined temples 
Thy soft tresses bind ; 
Thy knowledge, thy genius. 
Thy carcanet mind ; 
Thy gentlest of voices, 
Thy sunshiny smile. 
Thy silken lashed eye-lids, 
Thy lips without guile, 
If e'er such were created. 

Thy white glancing shoulders, 

Thy ivory arms — 

What pencil can paint thee. 

What lip chaunt thy charms ! 

Superb as a Queen is. 

Yet gentle and kind. 



27 



Where sunny-eyed beauty, 

Thy mate can I find? 

(In thy heart's depth, you murmur.) 

Thy soul as a lake is. 
Deep, waveless, and pure. 
Thy heart as an ocean 
That meeteth no shore. 
Thou, child of Minerva, 
A Venus doth stand. 
What gift shall I bring thee 
To kiss the white hand 
Lying passive in mine 1 

Thou knowest, — no longer, 
With lance lain in rest, 
The chosen one doeth 
His charmer's behest. 
No longer, tall nodding. 
His love-lifted plume, 
Floats fleet as a meteor 
Through battle and gloom. 
In the front of the tempest. 



28 QL^E PULCIIRIOR 1 

Lo, spacious and wide 
Are the lists of the world, 
Though corslet be rusted, 
And battle-flag furled : 
As matchless the glances 
Of beauty — as proud 
The chaplet — the voice 
Of the clarion as loud. 
As at Bayard's command. 

We earn not these laurels 
Through rage and turmoil : 
No blood-stain the wreath 
Of the scholar doth soil : 
No tear of the anguished 
Can blister that leaf 
Whose winning hath cost not 
One doating heart grief. 
Through the breadth of the land. 

Oh, far, far more radiant 
Olympia's crown. 



QU^ PULCHRIOR? 29 

Than Rome's haughty purple 

Or Sylla's renown. 

Thou — beautiful, glorious ; 

I — loveless and plain : 

What can I — what must I, 

Thy love to obtain, 

With a hope that is dearer ? 

I steer on an ocean 
Broad, stormy and wild, 
With heart of a giant. 
With arm of a child. 
My heaven's vast blackness 
Doth hold but one star. 
I w^orship — I woo thee, 
Bright maid, from afar. 
Saidest thou, — ' come then nearer ? ' 
1844. 



WOMAN OF CANAAN. 



Once there came a woman weeping, 

Weeping to the Savior's feet, 

She had left her daughter sleeping 

Grievously consumed by heat. 

Through the crowd the troubled mother 

Striving anxiously to see, 

Cried unto the wondrous stranger ; 

Xoiorog, iXttjoor iis. 

When she saw the Lord had passed her 
Heeding not, she worshipped near, 
Saying ; — Heal her, gentle Master : 
Saying ; — Holy Master, hear. 



WOMAN OF CANAAN. 31 

Looking on her, Jesus answered ; 
Think you it is meet to give 
Unto dogs the bread of children, 
Bread whereby the children live? 

But this woman full of sorrow, 
Full of ivoman's hope and love. 
Trusting earnestly, did borrow 
Wisdom from a source above. 
Truth, — she meekly answered. Master, 
Yet they have their own award ; 
For the dogs are fed with fragments 
From the table of their Lord. 

Marvelled much our Lord's disciples, 

Such exalted faith to find 

In the kneeling Canaanitess. 

Unto her no longer blind. 

Then said Jesus ; As thou wiliest 

Be it to thee even now. 

Rise and go unto thy daughter ; 

31fyu?.tj }^ nloTig oov. 



32 WOMAN OF CANAAN. 

Quick she rose and went rejoicing, 
Went rejoicing on her way ; 
Flew unto the little chamber 
Where her child had lain the day. 
Pale and heavy-eyed no longer, 
Healed and beauteous to see, 
Came the maiden to the mother, 

Sobbing; — ^"^"a ooi, Kr{>is. 

Happy in the dread hereafter, 
Threefold happy wilt thou be, 
Seeing Christ compassionately, 
Meek one, looking upon thee. 
Then thy heart will beat with gladness, 
Saying ; Blessedest art thou 
Unto whom our Lord has spoken ; 

JMiyuX}] i] nlorig aov. 
1816. 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 



Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare, 

Dost see the far hills disappear 

In Autumn smoke, and all the air 

Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread 

Are breast-high harvests, and the red 

Wide fallow fields : while overhead 

The jays to one another call, 

And through the stilly woods there fall 

Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er 

The squirrel perched in upper air. 

From tree-top barks at thee his fear : 

His cunning eyes mistrustingly 

Do spy at thee around the tree, 

Then prompted by a sudden whim, 

Down leaping on the quivering limb 

3 



34 ORNITHOLOGOI. 

Gains the smooth hickory, from whence 
He nimbly scours along the fence 
To secret haunts. 

But thou, where roar 
The pine woods in long corridor, 
Sonorously and evermore, 
When through the budding shrubs descried 
Green slope the fields on every side ; 
When jasmines and azalias fill 
The air with sweets, and down the hill 
Turbid no more descends the rill, 
The wonder of thy hazel eyes 
Soft opening on the misty skies, 
Dost smile within thyself to see 
Things uncontained in, seemingly, 
The open book upon thy knee : 
And through the quiet woodlands hear 
Sounds full of mystery to ear 
Of grosser mould : bird-voices, deer 
Bleets, the innumerable cries 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 35^ 

That from the teeming world arise ; 

Which we, self-confidently wise, 

Pass by unheeding. Thou did'st yearn 

From thy weak babyhood to learn 

Arcana of creation ; turn 

Thy eyes on things intangible 

To mortals ; when the earth was still, 

Hear dreamy voices on the hill 

In wavy woods, that sent a thriJil 

Of joyousness through thy young veins. 

Ah, happy thou, whose seeking gains 

All that thou lovest, man disdains ; 

A sympathy in joys and pains 

With dwellers in the long green lanes. 

With wings that shady groves explore. 

With watchers at the torrent's roar, 

And waders by the reedy shore. 

For Nature, through thy purity. 

Is open as a book to thee. 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 

Croak, croak. — Who croaketh overhead 

So hoarsely, with his pinion spread 

Dabbled in blood and dripping red. 

Croak, croak : — a raven's curse on him 

The giver of this shattered limb. 

Albeit young, (a hundred years, 

When next the forest leaved appears!) 

Will Duskywing behold this breast 

Shot-riddled, ^r divide my nest 

With wearer of so tattered vest ? 

I see myself with wing awry 

Approaching ; Duskywing will spy 

My altered air, and shun my eye. 

With laughter bursting, through the wood 

The birds will scream ; — ' she 's quite too good 

For thee.' And yonder meddling Jay, 

I hear him chatter all the day ; 

* He 's crippled, — send the thief away.' — 

At every hop — ' don't let him stay ! ' 

I '11 catch thee yet, despite my wing. 

For all thy fine blue plumes thou 'It sing 



ORNITIIOLOGOI. 87 

Another song ! Is 't not enough 
The carrion in the swamp we snufF, 
And gathering down upon the breeze, 
Release the valley from disease. 
If longing for more fresh a meal, 
Around the tender flock we wheel, 
A marksman doth some bush conceal. 
This very morn I heard an ewe 
Bleat in the thicket ; there I flew 
With lazy wing slow circling round. 
Until I spied unto the ground 
A lamb by tangled briers bound. 
The ewe meanwhile from hillock-side 
Bleat to her young — so loudly cried 
She heard it not when it replied. 
Ho, ho — a feast ! — I 'gan to croak, 
Alighting straightway on an oak ; 
Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant 
The little trembler lie and pant : 
Leaped nimbly thence upon its head ; 
Down its white nostril bubbled red 



ORNITIIOLOGOI. 

A gush of blood. Ere life had fled 
My beak was buried in its eyes 
Turned tearfully upon the skies, 
Strong grew my voice and weak its cries 

No longer could'st thou sit and hear 
This demon prate in open air 
Deeds horrible to maiden ear. 
Begone ! — thou spokest. Overhead 
The startled fiend his pinion spread, 
And croaking maledictions, fled. 
But hark : — who at some secret door 
Knocks loud and knocketh evermore. 
Thou seest how around the tree. 
With scarlet head for hammer, he 
Probes where the haunts of insects be. 
The worm in labyrinthian hole 
Begins his sluggard length to roll : 
But crafty Rufus spies the prey, 
And with his mallet beats away 
The loose bark crumbling with decay. 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 



Then chirping loud, with wing elate 

He bears the morsel to his mate. 

His mate, she sitteth on her nest. 

In sober feather garments dressed, 

A matron underneath whose breast 

Three little tender heads appear. 

With bills distent from ear to ear, 

Each clamors for the larger share : 

And whilst they clamor, climb, and lo 

Upon the margin to and fro. 

Unsteady poised, one wavers slow. 

Stay, stay ; — the parents anguished, shriek 

Too late : For venturesome yet weak. 

His frail legs falter under him, 

He falls, — but from a lower limb 

A moment dangles ; thence again 

Launched out upon the air : in vain 

He spreads his little plumeless wing, 

A poor blind, dizzy, helpless thing. 



40 ORNITHOLOGOI. 

But thou, who all did'st see and hear, 

Young, active, wast already there 

And caught the flutterer, in air. 

Then up the tree to topmost limb, 

A vine for ladder, borest him. 

Against thy cheek his little heart 

Beat soft. Ah, trembler that thou art ; 

Thou spokest smiling ; comfort thee. 

With joyous cries, the parents flee 

Thy presence none ; confidingly 

Pour out their earnest hearts to thee. 

The Mockbird sees thy tenderness 

Of deed ; doth with melodiousness 

In many tongues thy praise express. 

And all the while, his dappled wings 

He claps his sides with as he sings. 

From perch to perch his body flings. 

A poet he, to ecstasy 

Wrought by the sweets his tongue doth say. 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 



41 



Who shouts so loud? — Hallo, hallo ! 
'Who in the pine-top to and fro 

Rocks gallantly ? Ha, brother Crow, 

Why cawest thou so loud, below ? 

Caw — caw : Last spring good Roger came 

And sowed his corn : a tenth we claim. 

Look you, I wear a satin hood 

Blue-black and monkish, reason good 

For taking tithe of all we would 

According to the good old law. 

Caw — caw ! quoth L ' I '11 stop your " caw 

duoth Roger ; Ever mortal saw 

Such a lean, lazy lizzard thing! 

No longer will I tatters bring 

To fright him off, his neck I '11 wring.' 

Since then has Roger soon and late. 

With rusty barrel lain in wait. 

I 'm twice as old and thrice as wise 

As Roger, therefore while he lies, 

I dio- his corn before his eyes. 

This morning Roger came once more. 



42 ORNITHOLOGOI. 

And sowed a furrow as before. 

Hey ! — muttered I — Here's something stranj^e 

The seasons all ha' made a change, 

Unless a bad account I keep ! 

The fellow 's certainly asleep, 

He sows in Autumn, when 'ill he reap ? 

Off Roger goes : A feast — I cry, 

A feast ! From every furrow nigh 

The brotherhood their pinions fly. 

Now while we single grain from grain 

Right busily, adown the lane 

Creeps Roger stealthily again. 

Look to yourselves! — our sentries shriek. 

With wings grown wonderously weak 

To rise into mid air we seek ; 

But reeling back, some lie as dead, 

While others with their pinions spread 

Flap in the dust. Amid the din 

Of cawing, Roger runneth in : 

In either hand around he slings 

An anguished trunk with panting wings, 



ORNITIIOLOGOI. 43 



Then off the headless carcass flings. 

I who had played the host, and fed 

But sparingly, in season fled 

To pine-top. Never farmer reaped 

So cursed crop ; in spirits steeped, 

His maize a hideous harvest yields, 

A malediction on his fields. 

No green and waving blade appears, 

In place of sweet and golden ears, 

Blood sopped fruit his furrow bears. 

Although a crafty profligate, 
Thou heardest him his grief relate, 
With sympathy. Will man abate, 
(Thou saidest), nevermore his hate 
To these, nor with the helpless share 
That which without diviner care 
Unrecompense of labor were. 
Ah, let him give, but cheerfully 
To them that now so fearfully 
Flit up, and from his presence flee. 



44 ORNITHOLOGOI. 

And he will smiling harvests see 
Where indigence was wont to be. 
For God loves all, and does not give 
Life only, but the means to live. 

Stay, stay — what small wings flutter now 
Beneath yon flowering alder bough 1 
Therefrom a little plaintive voice, 
That did at early morn rejoice, 
Makes a most sad yet sweet complaint, 
Saying ; ' My heart is very faint 
With its unutterable wo. 
What shall I do, where shall I go. 
My cruel anguish to abate ? 
Oh, my poor desolated mate ! 
Dear Cherry, will our hawbush seek 
Joyful, and beaming in her beak 
Fresh seeds, and such like dainties won 
By patient search : But they are gone 
Whom she did brood and dote upon. 
Oh, if there be a mortal ear 



ORNITHOLOGOI. 



45 



My sorrowful complaint to hear ; 
If manly breast is ever stirred 
By wrong done to a helpless bird ; 
To them for quick redress I cry.' 
Moved by the prayer, and drawing nigh, 
On alder branch thou didst espy 
How sitting lonely and forlorn, 
His breast was pressed upon a thorn, 
Unknowing that he leaned thereon. 
Then bidding him take heart again. 
Thou rannest down into the lane 
To seek the doer of this wrong. 
Nor under hedgerow hunted long. 
When, sturdy, rude and sun-embrowned, 
A child thy earnest seeking found. 
To him in sweet and modest tone 
Thou madest straight thy errand known ; 
With gentle eloquence did'st show 
(Things erst he surely did not know,) 
How great an evil he had done : 
How, when next year the mild May sun 



46 ORNITHOLOGOl. 

Renewed its warmth, this shady lane 

No timid birds would haunt again ; 

And how around his mother's door 

The robins, yearly guests before 

He knew their names, would come no more. 

But if his prisoners he released 

Before their little bosoms ceased 

To palpitate, each coming year 

Would find them gladly reappear 

To sing his praises everywhere, 

The sweetest, dearest songs to hear. 

And afterwards, when came the term 

Of ripened corn, the robber worm 

Would hunt through every blade and turn, 

Impatient thus his smile to earn. 

At first, flushed, angrily, and proud, 
He answered thee with laughter loud 
And brief retort. But thou did'st speak 
So mild, so earnestly did'st seek 
To change his mood, in wonder first 



ORNITIIOLOGOI. 

He eyed thee, then no longer durst 

Raise his bold glances to thy face ; 

But looking down, began to trace, 

With little naked foot and hand, 

Thoughtful devices in the sand. 

And when at last thou did'st relate 

The sad affliction of the mate 

When to the well known spot she came, 

He hung his head for very shame. 

His penitential tears to hide. 

His face averted, while he cried ; 

' Here take them all, I 've no more pride 

In climbing up to rob a nest : 

I 've better feelings in my breast.' 

Then thanking him with heart and eyes, 
Thou tookest from his grasp the prize, 
And bid the little freedmen rise. 
But when thou sawest how too weak 
Their pinions were, the nest did seek, 
And called thy client : Down he flew 



47 



48 ORNITHOLOGOl. 

Instant, and with him Cherry too. 
And flitting after, not a few 
Of the minuter feathered race 
Filled with their chirpings all the place : 
From hedge and pendant branch and vine 
Recounted still that deed of thine ; 
Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er 
Gladly : more heartily, be sure, 
Were praises never sung before. 

Beholding thee, they understand 
(These Minnesingers of the land) 
How thou apart from all dost stand 
Full of great love and tenderness 
For all God's creatures : these express 
Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct 
All things that are, to thee are linked 
By subtle ties; and none so mean, 
Or loathsome, hast thou ever seen, 
But wonderous in make hath been. 
Compassionate, thou knowest none 



ORNITIIOLOGOI. 49 

Of insect tribes beneath the sun 

That thou can'st set thy heel upon. 

A sympathy thou hast with wings 

In groves, and with all living things. 

Unmindful if they walk or crawl, 

The same arm shelters each and all, 

The shadow of the curse and fall 

Alike impends. Ah, truly great, 

Who strivest earnestly and late 

A single atom to abate 

Of helpless wo and misery. 

For very often thou dos't see 

How sadly and how helplessly 

A pleading face looks up to thee. 

Therefore it is, thou can'st not choose 

With petty tyranny to abuse 

Thy higher gifts : And justly fear 

The feeblest worm of earth or air 

In thy heart's judgment to condemn, 

Since God made thee, and God made them. 

1846. 



A PARABLE. 



I LAY one night and saw a dream 
That thus, Irene appeared : 
I saw sit shivering by a stream 
A maiden silken-haired. 

Her tender arms dejectly crossed, 
Her radiant head bent down ; 
In melancholy fancies lost, 
Her eyelids sought the ground. 

* All things in nature harmonize, 
And sorrows joys enhance ; 
Why when the sunshine golden lies, 
Art thou in mournful trance ? 



A PARABLE. 

* Why mournest thou ? ' I said, and took 
Her hands within mine own. 

— All calmness straight my soul forsook 
With tenderness o'erflown. 

But lo, while thus the child apart 

My arms encircling held, 

And pressed against my throbbing heart, 

Her bosom throbbed and swelled ; 

My lifted eyes a mocking crowd 
Beheld about us stand : 
With well-bred air each phantom bowed, 
And smiled behind his hand. 

* Why smile ye. Sirs? ' — I briefly cried : 
' Why come ye here at all?' 

* Faith,' spoke a Shade, * thy bosom's pride 
Hath sat beside us all ! 



51 



52 A PARABLE. 

' We, as you see us standing here, 
In turn have shared her heart. 
A new Alcina charms thy ear, 
And thou her Roland art. 

' Not long its fragrance keeps the rose 
That blooms to every gale. 
For her who broadcast love bestows, 
My heart is cased in mail.' 

Thus spoke in courteous tones the Shade, 
Sarcastic smiled and turned. 
With blushes burning stood the maid ; 
For me, — I no more burned ! 

Read me this parable, Irene, 
That I may judge aright 
If visions such by day arc seen, 
Or only haunt the night. 

1846. 



TO ALCINA. 



Cease to move me, gentle Venus, 
Thou Minerva, spread between us 
All thy books : That what is heinous 

In her treating, 

I repeating 
Once for all, may then forget her. 
(Banishment than hate is better.) 

How is this ? — her eyes are tender, 
Softly smiles she, white and slender 
Are her hands ! — The Furies lend her 

Charms. Enchanting 

Flies she panting, 
To my bosom : Taken, — warmed, 
She is to an asp transformed ! 



54 TO ALCIXA. 

Out upon my childish dreaming, 
Out upon the cheating seeming, 
That deceived me ! Crafty, gleaming, 

Saw I never 

How for ever 
In her hand a blade was holden. 
Sheath whereof was silk and golden. 

Well, despise me if thou choosest : 
Nothing by thy hate thou losest. 
Heart of mine alone refuseth 

To be chided, 

To be guided 
Into hating where it perished. 
(Better, loving, had it perished!) 

1846. 



TOCCOA.* 



Can I forget that happiest day, 
That happiest day of all the year, 
When on the sloping rock I lay, 
Toccoa dripping near ? 
The lifted wonder of thy eyes 
The marvel of thy soul expressed. 
Aloft I saw serenest skies. 
Below, thy heaving breast. 

* Toccoa and Tallulah, two falls in Upper Georgia. The Jirsi a 
mere rivulet falling in seldom more than a shower of spray from the 
edge of a lofty cliff into a lovely and secluded valley ; the last, an 
impetuous torrent, rnging down the gigantic granite steps at the head 
of a barranca upwards of a thousand feel deep, and whose gloomy 
grandeur is most impressive when a black cloud closes the narrow 
aperture overhead, and the towering precipices on either hand 
reverberate the deafening crash of the thunder. 



56 TOCCOA. 

On wings of mist, in robes of spray 
Long trailed, and flowing wide and white, 
Adown the mountain steep and gray 
We saw Toccoa glide. 
Her garments sweeping through the vale, 
Began the whispering leaves to wake, 
And wafted like a tiny sail 
A leaf across the lake. 

The murmur of the falling shower 
Which did the solitude increase, 
We heard ; the cool and happy hour 
Filled our young hearts with peace. 
Thou satest with a maiden grace, 
Thou sawest the rugged rocks and hoary, 
As with a half-uplifted face 
Thou listenedst to my story. 

How many of the banished race. 
Those old red warriors of the bow, 
Have slumbered in this shadowy place, 
Have watched Toccoa flow. 



TOCCOA. 57 

Perchance, where now we sit, they laid 
Their arms, and raised a boastful chaunt, 
While through the gorgeous Autumn shade 
The sunshine shot aslant. 

One night, a hideous howling night, 
The black boughs swaying overhead, — 
Three painted Braves across the height 
A false Pe-ro-kaii * led. 
Bright were her glances, bright her smiles, 
Wonderous her waving length of hair, 
(Ye who descend through slipj^ery wiles, 
A maiden's eyes beware!) 

That saw these swarthy Cherokees 
In the deep darkness on the brink ? 
They saw a red fire through the trees. 
Through the tossed branches wave and wink ; 
They saw pale faces white and dreaming, 
Clutched their keen knives, and held their breath, 
— All this was but a cheating seeming, 
For them, not for the phantoms death. 

* Lit. ' Evil-child.' 



58 TOCCOA. 

Spoke then the temptress — (maid, cr devil,) 
' Let the pale sleepers sleep no more ! ' 
Whoop ! — three good bounds on solid rock, 
Then empty blackness for a floor. 
Yelled the fierce Braves with rage and fright, 
With fright their bristling war plumes rose : 
On these down fluttering, did the night 
Her jaws sepulchral close. 

These rocks tall-lifted, rent apart. 

This Indian legend old 

To thee, enchantress as thou art, 

A warning truth unfold. 

Who love, '.iiid midnight dangers stand, 

To them false fires wink : 

Accursed be the evil hand 

That beckons to the brink. 

1845. 



TALLULAH. 



Recollect thou, in thunder 
How Tallulah spoke to thee, 
When thy little face with wonder 
Lifted upwards, rocks asunder 
Riven, shattered. 
Black and battered, 
Thou aloft didst see ? 

Downward stalking through Tempesta, 

Did a giant shape appear. 

All the waters leaping after 

Hound-like, with their thunder-laughter 

Shook the valley 

Teocalli, 

Hill-top bleak and bare. 



60 TALLULAH. 

Vast and ponderous, of granite, 
Cloud enwrapt his features were. 
In his great calm eyes emotion 
Glimmered none ; and like an ocean 
Billowy, tangled, 
Foam bespangled 
Backward streamed his hair. 

On his brow like dandelions 

Nodded pines : the solid floor 

Rocked and reeled beneath his treading, 

Black on high a tempest spreading. 

Pregnant, passive, 

As with massive 

Portal, closed the corridor. 

Frighted, sobbing, clinging to me 

In an agony of dread, 

Sawest thou this form tremendous 

Striding down the steep stupendous 

With the torrent : 

Night abhorrent 

Closing overhead. 



TALLULAH. 61 

Then my heart dissembling courage, 
That thine own so hjudly beat. 
Comfort thee, I said, poor trembler : 
Providence is no dissembler. 
Higher power 
Guards each flower 
Blooming at thy feet. 

Flushed and tearful from my bosom 

Thereat thou did'st lift thy face. 

Blue and wide thy eyes resplendent, 

Turned upon the phantom pendent, 

Whose huge shadow 

Overshadowed 

All the gloomy place. 

Back revolving into granite, 
Foam and fall and nodding pine, 
Sank the phantom. Slantwise driven 
Through the storm-cloud rent and riven. 
Sunshine glittered 
And there twittered — 
Birds in every vine 



6 3 TALLULAH. 

Then sonorous from the chasm 
Pealed a voice distinct and loud 
* Innocence and God-reliance 
Set all evil at defiance. 
Maiden, by these, 
(As by snow, trees,) 
Evil heads are bowed.' 

1845. 



ON THE DEATH OF A KINSMAN.^ 



I SEE an Eagle winging to the sun — 

Who sayeth him nay ? 

He glanceth down from where his wing hath won 

His heart is stout, his flight is scarce begun, — 

Oh hopes of clay ! 

Saw he not how upon the cord was lain 

A keen swift shaft ; 

How Death wrought out in every throbbing vein, 

In every after agony of pain, 

His bitter craft ! 

* Hon. Hugh S. Legav6. 



64 ON THE DEATH OF A KINSMAN. 

Like old Demetrius, the sun had he 

Beheld so long, 

Now things of earth no longer could he see, 

And in his ear sang Immortality 

A pleasant song. 

Icarus like, he fell when warm and near 
The sunshine smiled : 

He rose strong-pinioned in his high career — 
— Thy dust remains^ thy glorious spirit where, 
Minerva^ s child 7 

Therefore him Fame had written fair and high 

Upon her scroll, 

Who fell like sudden meteor from the sky. 

Who strenuous to win at last did die 

E'en at the goal. 

June 21st, 1813. 



TO ANNE. 



Disconsolate and ill at ease 
The heart that is, a future sees 
Affording nought to cheer or please. 

But she that owns a quiet mind 
To good or evil fate resigned, 
No great unhappiness can find 

In any lot. A child in years, 
Already have maturer cares 
Oppressed thee, and thy eyes to tears 

No strangers are. Fair, fresh, and young, 
Thrice bitterly thy heart was wrung. 



66 TO ANNE. 

For what had they to do with thee, 
In thy spring days, despondency, 
Or any woful mysteries ? 

Yet when thy eyes were no more blind 
With weeping, self-possessed, resigned, 
Preeminent arose thy mind. 

And resolute in doing well. 

Didst henceforth teach thy breast to swell 

With nought that maiden will could quell. 

Thou sawest how man breathes a day 
Before re-mingling with his clay : 
How feeble in Almighty ken 
The most omnipotent of men 
Appears : And how the longest life 
Is one short struggle in the strife 
That rocks the world from age to age. 



TO ANNE. 67 

What worthy hand may write the page 
Whose Alexandrine words unbind 
Thy upwardly directed mind ? 

One beat triumphant of the wings, 
And dust no more about thee clings, 
And all the galaxy of things 

Intangible and vast, expand, 
So that thou mayest safely stand 
On hitherto a quaking sand. 

Yet must this excellence be wrought 
Not by companionship with thought 

Alone : By tracing down the stream 
Of life, the glitter of a dream : 

By repetition vain of creeds : 

No, — it is by thy deeds — thy deeds, 

The flowers will o'ertop the weeds 



68 TO ANNE. 

In thy God's-garden. Cheerfully 
Do that allotted is to thee, 
And fashion out thy destiny; 

So that the tomb-doors may not be 
Dreaded and dark, but ope to thee 
A heaven far as thou can'st see. 

1846. 



THE TWO GIVERS. 



Every morning, every morrow, 
When at noon I cross the river, 
Thee I thank right heartily 
That thou art so kind a giver. 

There it is, we nightly linger, 
Gazing down into the stream ; 
It is like a nightly vision, 
It is like a pleasant dream. 

For we see, in silence standing 
With thy fingers locked in mine, 
In the waters darkly flowing 
All the greater planets shine. 



70 THE TWO GIVERS. 

From the bridge and from the barges 
On the river, redder lights 
Gleam : Beyond the sleeping village 
Others show along the heights. 

All the city lies behind us, 
Like a hive with busy cells ; 
And it warns how time is flying, 
By the chiming of its bells. 

All the city lies behind us, 
And the toil of human hands : 
But the better God-creation 
Visible before us stands. 

When Diana dimly rising 
Through the openwork of trees, 
On the cliff-sides, on the steeples 
Travels down by slow degrees 



THE TWO GIVERS. 71 

Silently the pallid splendor, 
Till behind our shadows stream, 
Like the shapes uncouth and dismal 
We encounter in a dream. 

Then the cool and quiet hour 
Tranquillizes all my soul ; 
I no longer thirst for wisdom 
And for worldly self-control. 

Thee I thank with tenderness. 
That thou bearest with my faults ; 
Knowing thou dost love me truly. 
All my better self exalts. 

And with stronger gratitude 
Thank the Universal Giver, 
For the cool and quiet evening, 
For the woods and flowinsf river. 



72 THE TWO GIVERS. 

Grateful most that he hath planted 
Pleasure in these hearts of ours, 
Not in works and world endeavors, 
But the sight and scent of flowers. 

1846. 



WHY SHE LOVES ME. 



It is happiness to be 

Loved by one so good as she, 

Loved, and that so tenderly. 

' Whi/ is it she loves me so 7' 
Into the deep woods I go 
Pondering, that I may know. 

Underneath the branches spread 
Green and tentlike overhead, 
Full of happiness I tread. 

Soon I find a pleasant seat 
Hidden from the summer heat. 
Leaves and flowers at my feet. 



74 WHY SHE LOVES ME. 

Opposite, around a tree 
Climbs a vine, most tenderly 
Clasping it and fair to see. 

Through the fanlike leaves appear 
Pendulous like braids of hair, 
Slender bunches everywhere. 

Truly now I understand 

Why, and guided by what hand, 

I alone her heart command. 

Outwardly she sees me rough : 
That my heart of better stuff 
Is, — she knoweth well enough. 

What is it to her or me. 
If of all ill-judged I be. 
So that understandeth she. 



WHY SHE LOVES ME. 75 

Well, if she can trust me so, 
When the winds begin to blow, 
Place of shelter shall she know. 

During Winters long and drear, 
When the fruits all disappear. 
Snow and sorrow everywhere. 

She shall in my arms remain. 
Comforted and quit of pain. 
Till the Summers come again. 

1846. 



THE WELCOME RAIN. 



The beating rain 

I will with hateful eyes behold again 

No more, if it my Love restrain. 

In haste she goes ; 

But rains incessant fall, and like a rose 

My heart invigorate and fresher grows. 

Now must she stay, 

Since heaven itself gives reasons for delay ; 

The long black road and canopy of gray. 

She loves me so. 

It would be misery for her to go 

Uncomforted by me, I dare to know. 



THE WELCOME RAIN, 77 

With mournful eyes 

She anxiously regards the sullen skies, 

And for the dread of going, not of staying, sighs. 

Whene'er she sees 

The beating drops, they are the swarming bees 

That fetch us honey ; so her heart decrees. 

When I beheld 

At dawn the driving clouds, my bosom swelled 

With bitter thoughts and inwardly rebelled. 

For then I thought 

That / a hateful patience should be taught, 

And she would sit expectant and unsought ; 

But now I know, 

IIow over sodden graves meek blossoms blow, 

liUxuriant the more for what 's below. 



78 THE WELCOME RAIN. 

Henceforth, no rain 

To bear, will I ungratefully complain, 

If it this once my Love, my Life, detain. 

1846. 



LOaUITUR DIANA. 



My temples on my arm I lean, 
While slides Diana through the screen 
Of tall and overhanging trees, 
Until my lifted face she sees, 
And book spread idly on my knees. 

High overhead the leaves are stirred : 
From tree to tree, remotely heard 
The katydid's incessant call : 
Still through the boughs and over all, 
The silver shafts of Dian fall. 

Oh Dian, thou who from thy skies 
Dost nightly look into her eyes, 



so LOQUITUR DIANA. 

(Her brown eyes unto thee upturned) 
Say if her heart hath ever burned 
As mine for her hath yearned ? 

Remembers she each summer night 
When we beheld thee, from the height, 
The silent woods of gloom deliver : 
And saw in eddies of the river 
Thy arrows fall and shiver. 

Caressingly I held in mine 

Her little hands : No joys of wine, 

Or gold, or books in mortal ken. 

Can yield such happiness again. 

— Ah, Dian, why repeat them then ? 

(Luna loquitur.) 
' Why bring them back ? — Oh murmur vain ! 
Doth not the miser count his sain 



LOQUITUR DIANA. 81 

In coffers hid ? — Thou safe and fast 
Beneath the lid that shuts the past, 
These golden hours hast. 

What more would'st thou or any one ? 
A precious heart thy deeds have won 
For thee. Behold how earnestly 
With lifted eyes she follows me, 
Believing that I look on thee.' 

1846. 



THE RISING OF THE RIVER 



While yestereve, still dark and drear 
With driving clouds the heavens were ; 
And strong and fast 
The river through the arches past ; 

I crossed the quaking bridge alone, 
Against whose pediments of stone 
The surging tide 
Swept trunks with arras distended wide. 

With waters flowing broad and red, 
The level lands were overspread ; 
Their early bloom 
All withered in a common tomb. 



THE RISING OF THE RIVER. 83 

The path so often trod of yore 
No longer traced along the shore, 
Before my eyes 
The gloomy stream, the murky skies. 

Oh heart, (I groaned) in such a sea, 
Were truth and honor swept from thee, 
Which should have been 
As rooted forests, firm and green. 

The flowers in my breast were drowned 
By overwhelming passion ; — found 
My feet no more 
A peaceful path along the shore. 

But over rising sins and woes, 
Alike, the simple arches rose 
Of faith in God, 
So that from shore to shore I trod. 



84 THE RISING OF THE RIVER. 

And when, oh Love, serene and fair 

The heavens are, and reappear 

On every lea, 

The fragrant bloom, the steadfast tree ; 

Then richer for these beating rains 
When harvest comes, in golden grains 
That heart will be, 
That trusted in its God and thee. 

1847. 



A WRECK. 



When the lost Atlantic, drifted 
Shoreward, in the surges rolled, 
By each wave successive lifted. 
Slowly tolled 

From the wreck a bell resounding 
Solemnly across that sounding, 
Where lay corpses manifold. 

So, when wrecked are my desires 

On the everlasting Never, 

And my heart, with all its fires. 

Out forever, 

These fond words, with sad vibration 

O'er your bosom's desolation 

Will lament the dead forever. 

1847, 



THE BOOK OF NATURE. 



(•' There are two books," writes Sir Thomas Browne, in the Religio 
Medici, " from which I collect my divinity ; besides that writ- 
ten one of God, another of his servant Nature — that universal 
and public manuscript, that lies expanded unto the eyes of all." 

" Possibly, even the heathens knew better 

how to join and read these mystical letters, than many Christ- 
ians, who cast a more careless eye on these common hierogly- 
phics, and disdain to suck divinity from the flowers of nature.") 

The manuscript of Nature's book 
Is open spread to every eye, 
But few into the leaves will look 
That round them lie. 



In characters both quaint and old, 
Yet easy to be understood ; 
On every hill and vale unrolled. 
In every wood. 



THE BOOK OF NATURE. 87 

I see the oaks, like belted knights, 
With sturdy sinews gird the land ; 
As Birnam wood besieged the heights 
In Malcolm's hand. 

The solemn brotherhood of pines, 
Like monks slow chaunting in the choir, 
Nos miserere : Cypress nuns 
In sad attire. 

But where around the opening glade, 
Aslant the golden light descends. 
And through alternate sun and shade 
The footpath wends ; 

And deeper in, the level sward 
With cooler shadows overspread — 
(Oh page more worthy of award 
Than eye hath read !) 



88 THE BOOK OF NATURE. 

From root to top the haws are crowned 
With tiaras of snowy bloom, 
Through purple violet lips the ground 
Exhales perfume. 

And there, unto the poet's heart, 
Illumined with a thousand dyes, 
And granite claspings all undone, 
The volume lies. 

Be patient, poet — say the Haws ; 
The human heart that flowers bears. 
Will ripen fruit in autumn days 
Of after years. 

Be humble — breathe the Violets : 
More worthily is honour won. 
If they a pleasing fragrance find 
Who looked for none. 



THE BOOK OF NATURE. 

And if thou — say the Calmias, 

A pride in exaltation hast, 

See how our bloom that crowns the cliff 

Wastes every blast. 

Love — saith the yellow Jasmine — Love ! 
In vain the storm menaces him 
Who binds his bosom's tendrils round 
A steadfast limb. 

And if indeed a poet's heart 
Thou hast, who walkest in this wood, 
Believe that God, in fruit or bloom, 
Works out some good. 

1847. 



FLOWERS IN ASHES, 



Where, with unruffled surface wide, 

The waters of the river glide 

Between the arches dimly in the early dawn descried ; 

While musing. Sweet, of thee, — once more 

I crossed the bridge as oft of yore, 

I saw a shallop issue from the shadow of the shore. 

With practised ease the boatman stood, 
And dipped his paddle in the flood : 
And so the open space was gained, and left behind the 
wood. 

The dripping blade, with measured stroke, 

In ripples soft the surface broke ; 

As once Apollo, kissing oft, the nymph Cyrene woke. 



FLOWERS IN ASHES. 91 

And, fast pursuing in his wake, 
I heard the dimpling eddies break 
In murmurs faint, as if they said — Herefrom example 
take. 

Unruffled as this river, lies 
The stream of life to youthful eyes ; 
On either bank a wood and mart, and overhead God's 
skies. 

Behind thee slopes the pleasant shore, 
The tumult of the town before. 

And thou, who standest in the stern, hast in thy hand 
an oar. 

Oh son of toil, whose poet's heart 
Grieves from thy quiet woods to part. 
And yet whose birthright high it is, to labor in the 
mart, 



92 FLOWERS IN ASHES. 

To thee, a child, the bloom was sweet; 
But manhood loves the crowded street, 
And where in closes, loud and clear, the forging 
hammers beat. 

But even there may bloom for thee 
The blossoms childhood loved to see ; 
And in the cinders of thy toil, God's fairest flowers 
be. 



1847. 



A MAY MORN. 



Last night the town was close and warm, 
But while we slept, arose a storm : 
And now how clear 
And cool and fresh the morning air. 

Between the swarthy trunks I walk, 
Which she made lovely with her talk, 
Saying ; — ' Dear love, 
' I see these branches from above ; 

* And when you are no longer here, 
I say — 't was there he called me " dear," 
His pride — his pet ; — 
So, absent, you are with me yet.' 



94 A MAY MORN. 

How Still it is ! — the city lies 
Behind, half hidden from the eyes ; 
And from the tops 
Of trees around the moisture drops. 

A bird with scarlet on his wings, 
Down in the meadow sits and sings ; 
Beneath his weight 
The long corn-tassels undulate. 

The thrush and red-bird in the brake 
Flit up and from the blossoms shake, 
Across the grass, 
A fragrant shower where I pass. 

Ah, thank God for this peace and rest, 
But more for that within my breast — 
How with a song 
The very river ebbs along. 



A MAY MORN. 

A song indeed most musical 

To him who on death's threshold shall 

Revive to know 

The faint and melancholy flow. 

Yet still the same as when he stood 
With musing eyes bent on the flood, 
And smiled to hear 
The ripples say — 'I love thee, dear ! ' 

Not that they said so in good sooth, 
But that he — (/, in simple truth !) — 
Seemed thence to hear 
The words that in my bosom were : 

As once she said them with the braid 
That bound her throbbing temples, laid 
Against my cheek, 
So I could even feel her speak. 



95 



96 A MAY MORN. 

And when she, blushing, ceased, — and 1 
Was mute with joy — the ripples nigh 
Took up the strain, 
And said, — ' I love thee. Sweet ! ' — again. 

And thenceforth all that once was fair, 
Grew fairer : — what unsightly were, 
Divine, if she 
But praised them incidentally. 

For she is dearer to me, than 
Was ever woman yet to man ; 
Are one, be sure, 
Her life and mine for evermore. 

1847. 



LOVE'S HERALDRY. 



Down where the river flows between 
The city and the dusky screen 
Of willow branches long and green 
That dim the villacre lights behind, 
With her who is so debonaire, 
In excellence of heart and mind 
So far — so far beyond compeer, 
What happiness I find. 

There yestereve, with hands in mine 
Fast locked as in the olden time, 
And words more musical than rhyme 
To ears that listened wistfully 
Yet scarce were satisfied — we stood 
The queenly Dian's disk to see 
Above the distant cypress wood 
Soar up triumphantly. 



98 love's heraldry. 

And while we talked of what should be 
Our future lot, nor could agree 
Therein at first — ' Heart' s-dearest, see 
(I said) — a cloudy fess in twain 
Divides Diana's silver shield.' 
And while she gazed, I cried again ; 
' Superior in the azure field, 
Behold it one again !' 

So chid I gently. She is wise. 
And quick to understand ; her eyes 
Turned to me with a glad surprise, 
And such deep love, that I — (I own,) 
When on my breast her head she laid, 
Found my philosophy all flown. 
For who hath courage to upbraid 
A queen upon her throne ? 

1847. 



LAST GIFT. 



Illustrious thy name shall be 
To all who love in future years : 
These little songs I sing to thee, 

Thy tears, 
Thy many griefs will I bequeath 
To uncreated heirs. 

Now, hidden are the quiet ways 
That bring thee to my bosom nigh ; 
And when is spent thy term of days, 
Thou 'It die : 
Then shall thy virtues live in praise 
That riches cannot buy. 



100 LAST GIFT. 

Night shall descend upon thy eyes, 
Thy lips no more repeat my name ; 
But all the virtuous and wise 

Shall claim 
Thee for their sister : — See, they '11 say 
Her whom he raised to fame ! 

1847. 



ORTA-UNDIS 

STROPHE. 



Orta virgo resonantera 
Vocem auribus undis, 
Mihi animo prsedulcem 
Umbra solitudinis 
Audio. Calentes agri 
Nemoraque muta sunt : 
Greges gratam coryleti 
UmbraiH lassi conquirunt ; 
Umbram cantus insectorum 
Sopientes qua sonant, 
Aquae gelida^ saxorum 
Fissurisque murmurant. 
Mihi fervidis sed horis 
Deest quics nemore 



102 ORTA UNDIS. 

Solo : JGstus nam amoris 
Oritur in pectore 
Vestibus cor palpitare 
Solet laetum nivei's. 
Id tunc speras tu servare 
Quod ab omnibus capis ? 
Felix qui cor (evax!) tuum 
Palpitare audiat ; 
Caput cirrisque jampronum 
Pectore ut sentiat. 
Tugs risus, palpebrasque 
Jam demissas video — 
Cur me pacem spoliasque 
Cur me sequeris, Virgo? 



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